


Slits

by ThatOneGreyGhost



Series: Recovery Files 001: Avengers [2]
Category: MCU, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Recovery, cutting/suicidal tendencies, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:20:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28082310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatOneGreyGhost/pseuds/ThatOneGreyGhost
Summary: Steve is not ok and is forced to confront it one night after a nightmare.
Relationships: Stucky
Series: Recovery Files 001: Avengers [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2064849
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	Slits

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING!!!!!!!!! There is a reference to cutting/self harm in this fic.

"Bucky?"

He was standing on the bridge, and his best friend, his dead friend, was staring right at him, his hair too long, his eyes full of pain.

"Who the hell is Bucky?" the ghost shouts, and Steve knows he's gotten through, sees something in his eyes that wasn't there before.

But then the ghost raises the gun, and he can't move, and at this point he knows he's dreaming, because Natasha should have fired the grenade launcher already, and suddenly the sound of a bullet ripping through his heart is the only thing he can hear.

His body falls. His spirit doesn't.

"No." Bucky whispers, realization forming in his eyes as tears. "NO!"

"It wasn't your fault." Steve feels himself flash back to the train, sees Bucky falling. "It wasn't your fault...."

"It was mine".

His eyes are open, and he's sitting up, fighting for every breath, though nothing obstructs him. He grips his chest, panting and crying, and suddenly the knife is in his hand, pressing into his skin, drawing blood. It feels familiar, comforting.

He hates it. He hates how dependent he is on it, but he can't stop. He's tried, and he just about goes out of his mind if he tries. He'll use anything he can get his hands on if he tries to stop; his nails, the furniture, his teeth, even rusty metal nearby.

It's better with the knife. The knife is clean, controlled. He can handle it.

"Steve?" The voice catches him off guard, and though he manages to hide the knife quickly enough, he can't hide the blood. "Oh, shit! You're bleeding".

"It's nothing." Steve feels the words drop out of his mouth like stones into a lake, dead words from a dead being. It's a lie, and he knows it's a lie, and he's about to be caught in it.

"It's not nothing. Look, it's getting everywhere!" The owner of the voice gets closer, and Steve is fairly certain its Sam, but he isn't sure. "How did you even manage to-"

The voice cuts off, and Steve can tell that it is Sam now, because he can feel how the man squints at him as he inspects Steve's arm.

"Where's the knife?"

Shit.

"There isn't one".

"Don't fucking lie to me, Rogers. Give me the knife".

Shit, shit, shit!

"I don't have- Why would you-"

"Steven. You lie to me one more time and we are going to have a problem".

He hears his mother's voice in that line; he suspects he was meant to. He feels his body start to tremble, with fear and shame and panic, all rushing through him faster than light.

He hands over the knife, still bloody from where it entered his skin; Sam takes it, shoving it in his pocket. Steve grips his forearm, trying to cover the marks. Sam just glares at him, waiting for an explanation. Steve tries not to look at anything; he feels so ashamed, he can't believe he let his guard down so far as to get caught in a show of weakness like that.

"I know I shouldn't...."

"That's the understatement of the century." Sam snorts.

"But I can't stop. I've tried, and I just can't." Steve finishes, looking up at Sam. He sees warmth in those eyes, not disappointment. It hurts to look at Sam, so he looks down.

"Do you want to die?"

Steve shakes his head, burying it in his arms. Shivers begin to make his skin crawl, sobs wracking his body as he waters his arms with bitter tears.

"Do you like how it feels?" Sam seems like he isn't angry, which confuses Steve. Why isn't he angry? Why isn't he hurt? How can he be so patient knowing what Steve was doing?

"No". It comes out in a whimper, small and shivering, like how he feels.

"When did you start?"

Steve feels his breath catch, and he forces himself to breathe properly. He hasn't been this upset in a long time.

Surprisingly, he still answers the question. Sam has a way of making people want to talk.

"After... After Bucky fell. Just before I crashed the Valkyrie".

He notices how Sam raises his eyebrows at that word phrasing. 'I crashed the Valkyrie' instead of 'the Valkyrie crashed'. No one else has ever noticed that. Steve didn't notice himself until a few weeks ago.

"It's been getting worse." Sam says it like a fact, but means it as a question. Steve nods, waiting for the follow up. "When?"

"After..." Steve bites back a sob. He needs to talk, he has to. If he doesn't say it now, it'll never be said. He doesn't want his emotions to kill him from the inside out. "After the bridge. After Bucky-"

Steve chokes on a sob, leaning forward into Sam as he whimpers helplessly. God, what kind of pathetic creature is he. He can't even say his name. He clutches Sam tighter, weeping silently.

Sam simply wraps his arms around Steve, holding him as he dissolves into a shivering mess. His form radiates with understanding, his pose seeming to shine with an unspoken message; 'It's going to be ok'.

Eventually, Steve stops crying; it isn't that he's not sad anymore, it's that he physically can't keep crying. "All cried out", as Tony would say. Sam lets go, slowly, and walks him over to the bed, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders. Sam kneels, holding the knife in his palms, thrusting it into Steve's field of view.

"Are there more?" Sam whispers. Steve shakes his head. 

Sam nods, then stands up, and Steve is afraid that Sam is going to hit him. He has no reason to suspect that, it's just that he's been so patient, so quiet about the whole incident that there has to be more. Steve is ready for the other shoe to drop.

Except it doesn't happen. Sam stretches, then wanders towards the door.

"I'm going to get you some water. Sit tight, ok?"

The only thing Steve can do is nod. He watches as Sam leaves, trying to ignore the growing sensation of his skin crawling, his mind spinning, his heart beating quicker and quicker-

"Stop it." He whispers at nothing. He reaches for his knife, but the knife is gone, Sam took it. He feels his breath come short and quick, panic swelling in his chest as he begins to violently rub the spot where he raked a knife across his skin not fifteen minutes earlier, his fingertips dragging, his nails digging in-

He draws blood again, but its not enough, he still feels like he can't breathe. He drags his nails down again, and again, and again, until his arm is a mangled, bloody mess. And it's still not enough. The sharp smell of blood swarms around his head, but he can feel his skin crawling, and he needs to cut, he has to, he has to, he-

"STOP IT!" he screams, gripping the sides of his head as he draws his legs up to his chest. That was a mistake, because the smell of blood is stronger now, oppressive as he tries to escape the thing he's done, tries to hide from the bloody mess of his arm, tries not to breathe in the scent of blood, his blood, and as he moves to cover his face, he sees that its on his hands, and he stifles a horrified gasp.

There is blood on his hands. There is blood, on his hands, and suddenly it's not his blood, it's someone else's, and they're bleeding and crying and calling his name and then he's falling, but it isn't him, it's someone else, and he's watching them fall as they scream, his name on their lips, his blood on their hands, his-

"STEVE!" Sam grabs his wrists, pulls them away from his chest. He becomes aware that the spot over his heart is bleeding, as if he was trying to dig a hole straight through the skin. He notices he's crying, but he can't feel anything. There is no sound, only his ragged breathing. There is no light, only vague shadows. There is no air, only the thick, overwhelming scent of blood.

"Help." He whispers, and his world implodes. Sound comes back, colors return, the scent of blood mixes with the scent of his shampoo, and Sam's skin lotion, and the lavender scent of his room. It's too much, and he feels like he's being ripped apart. He squeezes his eyes shut, whimpering as he tries to get away from the noise, the sights, the smells.

"It's too much." He whimpers as Sam holds his wrists tighter. "Make it stop, it's too much!"

"Steve! Calm down! Jesus, man, you need to stop!"

"Make it stop, make it stop, MAKE IT STOP!" Steve wrenches his hands away from Sam, pressing them over his ears and squeezing his eyes shut. Sam is pulling at his hands again, getting them away and the sound is too much, it's too much it's too much it's too-

The sound stops. All of it, even the sounds that he heard when his hands were pressed over his ears. The silence gives him room to breathe, and he feels something in his chest loosen as he begins to calm down. He opens his eyes slowly, his heartbeat slowing down.

Sam watches, then signs to get his attention. *Panic attack* he motions, and Steve nods slowly. *Sensory overload. got you worked up*.

Steve clumsily fingerspells his understanding, the panic in his chest not completely gone.

*Why did the noises stop?*

*Noise cancelling headphones. They're mine. Got them after I came home. They help sometimes*

*Oh* Steve glances down at himself, frowning as he sees he's covered in blood. *Are there earbud versions? I need to change*

*We'll get there in a second. Right now I want to talk about what just happened*

And they do. Steve has to clumsily sign everything because he doesn't feel connected to his body, but Sam understands. And they talk about why Steve turned to cutting and why he can't seem to stop and what he could try next time instead. Sam gives him some tips on calming himself down when he feels panicked, and Steve tells him about how tumultuous he feels regarding Bucky. Sam helps him feel more stable, if only for that night.

The next few months are hell for Steve. Sam doesn't let him wash the knives anymore, and while Steve agrees that's probably for the best, the other Avengers start to notice how he'll eye any sharp object that's put down in his proximity. Natasha is the first to figure it out completely. The others never voice their suspicions aloud.

Then, Bucky comes back. And Steve is so happy to have his friend back, but that first night, he wakes up with his skin crawling and a need to cut, and even though he tries all of Sam's techniques it's not working, and he feels his hands move so that his nails rest along his veins.

He's about to rip his arms open when someone knocks on his door. He feels his nails drag along his skin briefly out of shock, then puts his hands down.

"Come in." He says, suddenly aware of how messy his room is. He really ransacked the place trying to calm down, didn't he?

A familiar form stands in the doorway, standing just inside the door but not approaching. Steve gestures for Bucky to come in, and he does, closing the door behind him.

"How are you doing?" Steve tries to distract himself, because he doesn't want to admit just how close he was to ripping his arms open.

"Can-can I-" Bucky gestures to the bed, reaching out as if to grab the covers. Steve feels shock flood him, but he stands and throws back the covers, watching as Bucky crawls in and then pats the space next to him expectantly. Steve joins him, entwining his fingers in Bucky's hair instinctively as the brunet runs his fingers up and down Steve's back. Neither of them says anything for a long time. Neither of them has to.

"Thank you." Steve says after a little while. Bucky nods, and Steve suspects that even though Bucky might not remember everything, he remembers Steve, enough so that he can come and rescue him when he needs it.

"I heard you." Bucky whispers, and even though Steve says nothing, he can tell Bucky knows he heard him. "You were whining, like you were sick. But you don't get sick anymore, so I thought I better check on you before you did something stupid".

"Thank you." Steve whispers again, suddenly aware of how much he missed the brunet's touch, and of how Bucky smelled like lemons and iron, and of how quickly his heart beat when Bucky rubbed his back. "I needed this".

"I needed it too. I needed to see you again." Bucky starts to cry, and Steve can tell because his face is buried in Steve's shoulder, and his sleeve is getting wet. "I'm not safe, but I needed to see you. I just couldn't stay away any longer or I was going to seriously hurt myself".

Steve doesn't have the heart to tell Bucky that he's the reason Steve has been hurting himself for a long time. 

"I'm sorry I'm using you. I'm sorry I'm so selfish." Bucky mumbles.

"You're not selfish any more than I am." Steve whispers, pulling him closer. "I crashed a whole goddamn plane in the Arctic when you died. Following your logic, I'd say that's pretty goddamn selfish".

"heh." Bucky chuckles dryly, placing his hand on Steve's back as if they were gonna start dancing. "I guess. If you wanna play that game, you're always gonna win. I need you more than you need me".

"You're kidding, right?" Steve looks at Bucky's eyes and his smile slowly fades as he realizes Bucky has no idea how much he means to Steve. "Buck, I need you plenty. More than you think, actually. I-"

Steve doesn't know if he's ready to tell Bucky, but he knows that he'll have to tell him eventually.

"I cut myself." The words spill out before he can stop himself. "For a long time, I cut myself because I couldn't deal with my feelings. That, and I just couldn't stop".

Steve gives a wry smile, chuckling a little.

"And... Sam is helping me get better, but there are some days when I still want to, and I have to do something else so that I don't hurt myself. But tonight, nothing was working, and I was go- I was going to-"

Steve lets out a strangled sob, gripping Bucky tighter as he buries his face in his friend's shoulder. Bucky clutches him, running a hand up and down his back in a soothing manner. Steve starts to calm down a little, but he doesn't let go.

"Let's just say that if you hadn't knocked on my door when you did, I might have done something I'd regret".

"Then it's a good thing I decided to bother you." Bucky leans into Steve, and Steve can tell that if it was possible for him to leave his body and crawl into Steve's, he would. Their energies pulsed against each other, each of them holding the other as tight as possible. It almost hurts, for them to be so close and yet feel so far away.

"I- I think- I think I-" Bucky stutters, the words repeating again and again.

"I know, Buck." Steve says, understanding his friend almost perfectly. "Me too".

"You... like me too?" Bucky says, barely breathing the words.

Steve nods, breathing in the scent of lemons and iron, feeling Bucky next to him as sleep starts to grip his mind.

"I'm tired. I think I'm gonna go to sleep".

"Mm".

"Stay with me?" Steve asks as his hands lock behind Bucky's back.

"Mhm." Bucky hums as he nuzzles against Steve's neck. Steve smiles, holding his favorite person in the whole world.

Things didn't get better right away after that. Steve still had bad days where he wanted to cut his skin open, but now he didn't feel as alone. Sam still had to remind him to breathe, to look for other outlets, but now he had Bucky doing that too. And Bucky needed him, needed him to be a constant force in the midst of turmoil. Somehow it worked, and they both got better, slowly.

When they were more stable, they talked about everything that went wrong, and everything that went right. They fell in love over and over again, and one day Bucky asked Steve to marry him.

That's the day that Steve knows for sure he isn't going to ever cut again.


End file.
